


Wake Me When You Need Me

by LizzieRimmsy, MisterSmugGit



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s05e06, Pre-Episode: s06e01, Prelude to Nanarcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieRimmsy/pseuds/LizzieRimmsy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterSmugGit/pseuds/MisterSmugGit
Summary: The journey to find Red Dwarf was taking longer than expected, and with the one person Arnold Rimmer was supposed to take care of inside a deep sleep unit, leaving him with nothing else to do, no-one else to talk to, all he did was think – for six years.Set between the webcomic, Prelude to Nanarcy, and Psirens.





	1. Chapter 1

 

> _"Wait for the explosion, only to anticipate. Running in slow motion, I can never get away. Sweet paralysation. No-one here to keep me safe. Hyperventilation. I'm about to go insane."_
> 
> _~ Broods - Conscious_
> 
>  

* * *

At some point during their visit to an ocean planet, the crew had lost _Red Dwarf_. Well, Lister had in one of the biggest screw-ups he had made so far, in Rimmer’s opinion; he had forgotten where he parked the ship. Despite Kryten insisting that it was stolen, Rimmer still blamed Lister, as usual.

Kryten read _Starbug’s_ navi-com and found that the vapour trail of _Red Dwarf_ was speeding away across deep space at a phenomenal speed – which was actually that of a molecular, fake vapour trail created by the Kryten’s nanobots to throw them off their tail as a diversion. Not knowing what was truly going on, Kryten stipulated that in order to catch up with their seemingly stolen and escaping mothership, Lister and the Cat would have to go into deep sleep.

"Why only them?" Rimmer asked while he watched the deep sleep units ascend into large separate compartments. 

Kryten finished entering in a time for their awakening. "Well, sir, we are only electronic lifeforms…"

While Kryten went off about how they, unlike humans, had no need to go into stasis, Rimmer stared deeply at the unit that held Lister. Hazel eyes fixated on his vitals. Eventually, Kryten’s technobabble fizzled out, and all he heard was the monotonous, repetitive beeping sound of the heart monitor, along with his own artificial pulse. 

 _What am I going to do?_ Rimmer thought _._ He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have Lister around. He was so accustomed to his obnoxious, annoying and feotid presence that anything else seemed like a poor substitute. _I'm lost without him; he knows this — and yet…_ Rimmer tilted his head, eyes still glued to Lister’s DSU, only now they were glowing with agitation. _He still prefers her._ Those words alone were enough to send him spiralling into a pit of resentment.

"–but if you like, sir, I can shut your hologrammatic projection unit off now," Kryten’s rubber face scrunched up in confusion. "Sir? Can you hear me?" A minute twitch of Rimmer’s head told him he was at least somewhat responsive. "Mister Rimmer, sir? Are you alright?"

In that instant, everything that Rimmer had tuned out came rushing back into existence. He jerked and flinched as if he had been stung by a hornet in his backside. 

"I’m sorry, sir. I didn't mean to startle you."

"You di–" Abruptly, he stopped when a headache formed behind his forehead, starting out dull but quickly turned agonising, as if someone pounded a sharp object into his brain. Then it stopped just as suddenly as it came on, leaving only the familiar churn of a topsy-turvy stomach.

 _What's wrong with me now?_ Rimmer wondered. As he squeezed his right wrist, hoping that what he learned from Guilgud’s  _Complete Guide to Acupressure for the Dead_  wouldn't fail him now, he asked Kryten, "What were you saying before?"

"Oh, just how I could switch off your light bee until we reach _Red Dwarf_."

That did it. That truly did it. Rimmer hated, _hated_  being reminded that he was electronic — computer simulated — dead. Cavernous nostrils flared as badly as his anger. "Oh, fine! Sure! Switch me on, switch me off, like I'm some sort of battery powered sex toy!" 

"Sir, I was merely suggesting that–"

"Well, don't ' _merely suggest_ ’ anything!" He huffed out a frustrated sigh while he straightened out his red uniform. "I'm perfectly fine with staying on, thank you so very much indeedy."

Kryten regarded him dubiously, knowing full well that without Lister to bicker and torment, he would break in just twenty-four hours. "This may take some time, Mister Rimmer, sir. Are you absolutely sure?"

 _‘Are you sure?’_ How inane those words sounded these days, and even less genuine. Rimmer knew Kryten wasn't too overly concerned about him. No-one cared about him. Much like avoiding reading the duller than an in-flight magazine on the African savannas, Rimmer skipped reading the Terms of Agreement and went straight to ‘ _I accept_ ’ with a nod and a resounding, "Yes." 

He would eventually realise that he would be eating his response in a few day’s time.

* * *

As time went by, Kryten feared the worst for the hologram. In five days, Rimmer had read every book onboard the ship; twenty books, most of which were thicker than a nineteen seventies disco dancer’s afro. Dictionaries, books on Astronavigation, _Red Dwarf’s_ A to Z guides, flight manuals, repair manuals, everything that was available on _Starbug_. Sure, all of the extra, if not useless knowledge caused Rimmer’s brain to feel like it was a shaken up soda bottle ready to explode, but he didn't care. He wanted more. He _needed_ more.

By day ten Kryten really became worried. Rimmer had successfully programmed a Betamax player without the aid of an instruction booklet. And following space corps. directive five-nine-three, ‘ _In an emergency situation involving two or more officers of equal rank, seniority will be given to whichever officer can programme a VCR_ ’, Rimmer made up the name of an officer and thought up a fake emergency in which GELFs were going to blow them up, just so he could have seniority. Fearing that the hologram would rip off his head and use it as a bowl for sweets, Kryten never bothered to mention that one, Rimmer already had seniority — and two, the space corps. directive he quoted was for five-nine-two.

Rimmer wasn't just getting smarter — he was getting restless. Bored. There were only so many times he could go through a check of  _Starbug’s_ systems, seeing the same readouts over and over before he’d lose his already missing sanity. He was also bored of his appearance; on day six, Rimmer had changed his uniform from a red sleek, asymmetrical tunic to a red puffy quilted jacket with velvet trousers in the same colour. 

Even Kryten had to agree that being cooped up on the ship was beginning to get to them both, but if they were to stop now, they’d lose even more ground on _Red Dwarf_.

Rimmer let growled as he scornfully eyed _Starbug’s_ navigation screen. "If we  _ever_ catch up with the bastards that did this I’ll grab them by their necks and hang them from their todgers!" 

Before Kryten could chide him for showing such hostility toward the unknown beings, who could easily destroy the ship after hearing his words, he noticed the panel above Rimmer’s head, how the multi-coloured lights on it violently flickered. _Peculiar_ , he thought. _Although this ship is older than Betty White._ Kryten shrugged it off and turned back to his workstation. "I fear we're losing _Red Dwarf_ , sir," Kryten stressed. "It's still accelerating at a staggering five hundred miles an hour."

"How is that possible?" Rimmer slid the mechanoid a puzzled stare. "That junk heap is about as fast as Captain Holister after hearing about an all you can eat salad bar in the canteen."

"That's as may be, sir, but as I feared, this may take longer than I anticipated."

"I'm sure I don't want to know the answer to this, but… how much longer?"

Kryten imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders. "Impossible to say for certain right now, but best guess? A year."

Rimmer slumped forward, defeated. _A year?_  "That can't be right. Scan again."

"I already have done, sir. Five times."

 _Smeg…_ A subtle look of embarrassment donned on his face. _There must have been something—_ "Ah! But you haven't recalibrated the ventral acceleration fusion matrix, thereby allowing  _Starbug_ to travel faster, have you?"

"Yes, I have, sir." 

 _Double smeg._  "Yes, alright. No-one likes a front seat driver, Kryten," he grumbled, words soaked in a boiling tub of irritation.

Kryten sighed. "Indeed…" 

"Mind that star!" Rimmer exclaimed, pointing ahead.

"What star?"

" _That_ star!" He pointed again to a shimmering, pale blue stellar object.

"Sir, that star is over six hundred light years away — we're nowhere near it!" 

Yes, being cooped up on _Starbug_ with that smee hee was becoming more than a little infuriating and maddening. He only wished his spare heads were on board so that Spare Head Three could give the annoying twerp what for.

* * *

Before they knew it, six years had passed. Six… smegging… years. In that time, all Rimmer had done was think. He begged Kryten to land on a S-3 planet, one that had a library so he could have something else to read. The need for knowledge was getting worse. Rimmer was also becoming peculiar, to say the least. Kryten would frequently catch him having arguments with who assumed to be Lister. It even got to the point where Rimmer would imitate the scouser’s accents, just so he didn't feel as if the exchange of words weren't one-sided. With no objective, no tasks to complete, Rimmer had finally gone insane — he was broken — alone. 

Rimmer paced up and down beside one of the deep sleep units. Inside of it was Lister, safe and sound. _Lucky bastard_ , the hologram thought to himself. He suddenly stopped and faced the unit. He cocked his head to one side and gazed intently at it, as if he were expecting it to do something.

"We have been searching for _Red Dwarf_ for two thousand, one hundred and ninety days, eight hours, and twenty minutes," he said to Lister, as if he could somehow hear him. "Are you listening to me?"

What little remained of his sanity spoke to him, a voice that sounded only in his head. _"That does it, Me. We've had enough. Time to switch off."_

Rimmer’s facial features twitched erratically. Scowling at thin air, he growled, "I hate you!" His declaration was meant more for Lister, and his sanity knew this.

Sanity gasped in affront. _"Arnold! Stop it!"_

"I've made up my mind," he said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "If I'm going to die aboard this ship, then he will suffer the same fate as me."

_"Arnold, stop–"_

A laugh erupted from Rimmer; it bordered on maniacal.

Some other, more angry part of him exclaimed, _You have sacrificed everything for him!_ His rampant thoughts began taking hold, sucking out all rationality like a leech.

 _"Control yourself."_ Sanity begged.

Suddenly, his emotions took a one-eighty turn. Rimmer broke down sobbing. "I can’t…" he quivered. 

He stumbled until uneasy knees caved. Then he fell to the floor, curled into a ball. He felt like he was in a dream world; a horrible, nightmarish dream world. One that he couldn't wake from. He felt nauseated, his entire body shook.

"This isn't right. Something is— _AAAAHHHHHHH!!_ "

The hologram clutched his head tightly. Snaking holographic streamers shifting from white to purple projected from his midsection, shooting off in every direction. His screaming became distorted and non-linear in tone, increasingly getting worse as the white-hot searing pain coursed through his body. His image faded in and out, going between colour and black and white.

Through heavy breathing and sobbing, Rimmer yelled out for Lister over and over again, his voice sounding more and more like a shitty drive-through speaker by the second.

Kryten came bursting in and gasped at the sight of him. He quickly reached into Rimmer, then pushed the small button on the side of his light bee that switched him off. It was extremely hot. He juggled the device between his rubber hands a moment before shoving it into a black velvet pouch.

Widened neon-blue eyes looked at the bag dumbfounded. _What happened?_ he wondered. Without another thought, he hurried to the medi-bay.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing scared Rimmer more than non-existence, perpetually in darkness. He grew acclimatised to having an essence as a hologram. It took two years of furious resentment towards Lister and even himself and avoiding reminders of his death and his current state of being, but in the end, he got over it.

What scared him even more was that if anything terrible happened to him before he completed his duty, keeping Lister from going insane, he could never forgive himself. Rimmer prided himself on doing a good job so far — in fact, it was his own sanity that was slipping rather than Lister’s — but nevertheless, he had done well up until then and he wasn't about to let some glitch stop him now.

Rimmer started coming to.  _Where am I?_  he groaned, not fully awake just yet. _Why’s it dark? I must have taken a nap. I’ll just get up now…_ Once he realised something was amiss, thoughts began racing. _My legs, they won't move. I can't move at all._   _What is—? Wait. Where’s my body?_

He soon found that he wasn't whole, but merely a tiny light floating in pitch blackness. He couldn't even feel anything; he was simply dead, more so than usual.

_I'm dead?!_

_Listen to me, you moggy!_ his rational thinking snapped. _If you were dead, you wouldn't be thinking, now would you?_

_I need to live, I have to live! There's still so much I need to do! There’s still people who need me!_

_Are you even listening—? Hang on, who needs you?_

_Who d’you think?! Please, not yet! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!_

_Heeellllooooo?_ Rationality drawled in a tune. _Firstly, you're_   _already dead. And secondly, there's no reason to panic. It's not going to do you any good._

This whole time, however, Rimmer’s light bee laid on the scanner bed in the medi-bay. He wasn't dead at all; he was simply switched off. At that point, Kryten was plugging cords into his light bee that connected to a monitor, so that his vitals, albeit the hologrammatic equivalent, could be observed.

The initial results were disturbing. All the hallmarks of the beginning of data corruption had shown. Kryten’s eyes shrunk as he wondered why. _Surely being left on didn't cause this much damage._ He waited for the full results to come in. Though what it offered already was more than enough evidence that he wasn't well at all.

_I'm not going out like this; this is pathetic. All because of some glitch? I'm better than this._

_Are we?_

_Oh, shut—!_

In that instant, a flash of white light illuminated the room for a moment, then the familiar shape of the smeg head himself began to form; flared nostrils, an indignant glare, eyes aglow with anger — all signs that someone had pissed him off. That someone was himself. 

"—up!" Rimmer screamed, finishing his demand to Rationality. _Wait, this is_ — _I'm back?_

 _I told you_ , Rationality gloated, sounding somewhat reminiscent of a certain smug self-satisfied git, minus the James Bond-esque voice.

Rimmer rolled his eyes as he clutched his chest, half expecting to feel the agonising pain he felt before; there was none. A shaky, unnecessary exhale left him before speaking. "What happened to me?" he asked, his voice emulating that of a frightened young boy.

Kryten immediately went into lie mode and said, "Oh, nothing at all, sir. Everything is just peachy." 

He hoped the hologram wouldn't suspect a thing; it turned out he was wrong. Rimmer didn't speak at first. He just glowered at the mechanoid for a long time, then flicked his tongue across his lips involuntarily before finally speaking.

"Kryten, that's about as believable as a heartfelt apology from Tony Blair," Rimmer sat up and looked at the mech sternly. "Just tell me what's going on. Is it bad?" 

Unable to hold it in any longer, Kryten let out a high-pitched, Stan Laurel-like whimper, then tried to form some sort of semblance of words that weren't unintelligible, incoherent babble.

However, that was enough of an answer. Rimmer sat up a little straighter, feeling a panic attack coming on and clutching his chest. _Oh, God, no. I am going to die._

_Again, you're already—_

Rimmer swiftly cut off Rationality. _Oh, just stuff it!_

Kryten hesitantly began, "Well, it seems…" He swallowed courage by the glassful, letting the words slip from his mouth. "You have some sort of holo-virus."

Rimmer felt a slight stab of worry in his midsection. He swallowed hard. "H-holo-virus?" he stammered. 

He remembered the last time a virus infected him. Considering the differences between the two viruses, he’d gladly take dressing in a red and white checked gingham dress and army boots and donning a penguin puppet on his hand over completely losing control over himself. If it was one thing he couldn't stand, it was losing control; and crazy people. Slowly but surely, he _was_ going crazy.

"I can only assume it’s a holo-virus. There’s certainly no evidence of system failure. The scans are inconclusive on that front."

 _Maybe it's just remnants from before?_ Rimmer mused. _Maybe it'll pass… Right?_ He was hoping Rationality would speak up again to reassure him, but he suddenly went on holiday right when Rimmer needed him most. 

"I still think you should be switched off, sir," Kryten said pointedly. "Just look at what's been happening to you in only six years time; you haven't been resting, your emotions have gone haywire and you've taken on so much knowledge that you're putting Albert Einstein to shame."

Again, Rimmer didn't speak, he simply stared off into nothingness, disassociated. Once more, he tuned Kryten out. He thought he couldn't be that bad; but that thought dissipated like the morning fog when he realised just how horrible he felt; his head felt like it was bursting at the seams, he felt sick, yet he still felt numb to everything. 

He found himself focusing on some notes that Kryten had taken down over the course of six years. His eyes widened suddenly.  _What is this?_ he wondered. _‘Nearing max capacity’?_ Rimmer’s stomach burned inside. _Why hasn't this metal moron told me about this?_   _Am I really–?_  He sighed heavily, giving up the internal fight.  _Maybe… being shut off wouldn't be the worst thing._

"Sir? Have I lost you again?" 

Rimmer quickly blinked away his temporary zone out, masticating an invisible substance as he debated giving Bog Bot what for. He decided not to.

At the start, his words were as unsteady as his parents’ marriage but straightened out halfway through. "Y-you… um… You won't tell anyone how bad I've gotten, will you?" 

"Of course not, sir. I'd be happy to keep this under my hat, so to speak. But you _must_ take my advice, otherwise, it won't matter if the others discover that you're nuttier than a Snickers bar." Kryten stated, not taking in the fact that he had all but truthfully admitted Rimmer was dying.

He just chose to ignore it. Accepting the inevitable, he nodded and gave an unenthusiastic flourish of his hand. "Fine. Let's get it over with."

* * *

Kryten and Rimmer stood before a workstation; on the monitor was a form that all holograms had to fill out prior to being switched off, even if it was temporary; it listed the current date time, length of downtime if applicable, reason and special requests upon powering on again, again if applicable. One section had yet to be filled out: temporary successor. What Rimmer was about to enter in made him cringe inside and out.

_**Temporary successor: Kryten** _

****This stunned the mechanoid, nearly rendering him speechless. "Me, sir? Are you feeling alright?"

Rimmer flicked his eyes skyward. _Does he have to ask?_ "I don't have much choice, Krytie," he said, sighing. He turned to face Kryten. "Besides, you're capable of handling things, right kid?" Then he grimaced. _Did I just say that?_  Even Kryten had a wry expression. Rimmer frantically waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. Just…"

He stared longingly at the open hatch behind them, wishing he could stay. Although he knew it would do him more harm than good, he still wanted to be here when Lister woke up. He felt like he owed him that much. 

Hazel eyes flitted back to Kryten, gazing at him emotionlessly. "Wake me when you need me." 

Kryten nodded with understanding. "As you wish, sir," he agreed. 

In a literal flash, Rimmer was gone. His light bee hovered a moment and then fell to the floor with a clank. Kryten picked it up and held it in the palm of his rubber hand, carrying it to _Starbug’s_ kitchen. From there, he stuck the light bee in the freezer — it was the closest to cryo-sleep that he could think of — and what remained of Rimmer would stay there for the next two hundred years. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shorter chapter goes into Psirens. I didn't deviate too far from the script, or even The Last Human, so as far as the story goes, except for a few added bits, it's pretty much the same. Just felt this needed a proper ending. I also thought I would explain why Starbug had changed, compared to series five.  
> Thanks for giving this little thing a read.

Finally, just over two hundred years later, various consoles click into life. Suddenly, one of the deep sleep units flared with blue light from the inside, and smoke flowed from the outside; its hood hissed back, revealing a slowly-waking, bearded Dave Lister, wearing soiled long johns. His dread locks went down to the floor.

He lethargically sat up, holding his head. His mouth tasted vile, sticky and dry. He eventually noticed his fingernails and toenails were at least inches long. A sudden itch came about on his chest. Looking at his hands, he realised with nails as long as Rapunzel's pubic hair, he could effectively scratch himself.

Lister padded across the room, and began to cut his nails in a desk-mouted pencil sharpener, of all things. He caught his reflection in a blank TV screen and stared intently at it.

"Who the hell are you?" he wondered aloud. 

Meanwhile, Kryten did some tidying up, readying the ship for Lister’s and the Cat’s reawakening. Whistling along, he emptied some waste into a large hatch marked ' _Waste Compactor_ ' and pressed the start button. Once it finished, Kryten opened the hatch and pulled out the garbage that was now a perfect cube, and walked off with it.

Lister waddled down the stairs, rubbing his temples, and came into what was used to be the cargo bay. Not that he remembered what it looked like before, but _Starbug_ was more hi-tech than it was one hundred and ninety-four years ago, thanks to Rimmer’s boredom and Kryten’s help in the affair, due to Rimmer being soft light and unable to touch things. Light panels line the backed wall, along with switches and radar screens. There was now a large flatbed scanner screen, which doubled as a table, surrounded by four chairs.

Kryten walked down another set of stairs with the waste cube in his hands. Lister stood there, looking more than a bit nonplussed to see the mech. _Who the smeg is this?_ he thought. _Where the smeg am I?_

"Ah, welcome back on-line, sir," he said as he placed the cube in a chute. "How are you feeling?"

"Not good. I don't know who I am," Lister looked around the room, puzzled. "What is this place?"

As Lister spoke, Kryten pushed a few buttons on a panel, and in seconds, the garbage cube was flushed into deep space. 

"Ah, you have a touch of amnesia. That's quite common after such a long period in Deep Sleep. You have been out for two hundred years." the mechanoid stated, nonchalantly and as if it was trivial.

Lister had a quizzical stare. "Two hundred years?" he echoed incredulously. 

"Actually, I woke you last spring, but you _absolutely insisted_ on another three months. Then those three months turned into three more, and… well, you get the idea, sir." Kryten cracked a smile as he turned to leave.

"What did you say my name was?"

"Dave Lister, sir."

"Right. And you are–?" Lister prodded, hoping the strange, tall mech would tell him. He followed him into the galley.

"Kryten," he replied as he fussed over a tray on the counter. "I've just been preparing your breakfast tray." 

Lister looked down at the questionable food. _Wait a mo… is that–?_ "These cornflakes have got grated raw onions sprinkled over them." he said, his voice laced with disgust.

"That's how you like them, sir." Kryten went back to making Lister’s coffee. 

He sipped what he thought was orange juice and immediately spat it out. "This orange juice is revolting!"

"That's not orange juice, sir. That's your early-morning pick-me-up: chilled vindaloo sauce."

He stared at the glass with disdain, shaking his head. "I drink curry sauce for breakfast?"

"Depends on your mood. If you get up in the afternoon, you often prefer to start the day with a can of last night's flat lager. That's why you sleep with a tea strainer by your bed: to sieve out the cigar dimps."

 _Seriously? Is this who I am?_ "I drink, I smoke, I have curry sauce for breakfast? Raw onions on my cereal? I sound like some barely human grossed-out slimeball."

"Oh excellent, sir. It's all flooding back then?" Kryten left the galley and back into the scanner room. 

"No. None of it is." he thought out loud. Eventually, he followed after the mech again.

Kryten set the tray down on the scanner table, then moved to a medium-sized box. "Perhaps this will help," He opened it up. "Your personal artifacts. You asked me to keep them safe before you went into Deep Sleep,"

Lister took out a photo and admired the stunning young woman in it. Suddenly, he felt his legs turn to jelly. 

"That’s Kristine Kochanski," Kryten stated. "You dated her for three weeks once, before she discarded you for a catering officer."

"She's beautiful." he mused, too lost in thought to realise he'd said anything aloud. 

"It's your ambition, sir, someday somehow to get her back and lie on top of her and move up and down rapidly in that curious way that humans find so agreeable," He shook his head, unable to grasp the notion of such an action. "Personally, I prefer partnership whist." 

"Ah! Wait a minute. This feels more like it," Lister picked up a book with a dark brown hardback cover. "Aristotle's  _Metaphysica_. At last — something wholesome and commendable about me."

"Hardly, sir. You use that book to hide your secret Polaroid collection of naked ex-girlfriends."

Lister shot him a wry look at flipping through the pages. "I went out with a lot of nurses, didn't I?" he thought out loud.

"I don't believe those are authentic uniforms, sir," Kryten stated as he pointed to a photograph. "Note the astonishing brevity of those hemlines. I believe all those girls are impostors, pretending to belong to the medical profession for some nefarious purpose as yet unknown." 

In another attempt to spark something in his memory, Kryten then picked up Lister's guitar and handed it to him, bowing down to him as if he were the god of rock and roll.

"Is this mine? Do I play guitar?" he asked, surprised.

"Do I have a head shaped like an amusing ice cube?" 

Lister eyed Kryten with a blank face, inwardly agreeing with him. There was no way he could say it to his face.

"Why don't you chock out a few power chords? See if anything comes back to you."

A wistful expression donned on Lister's face, his newly trimmed fingertips grazing across the strings of his guitar. The noise that came out was anything but music. It was more like music to emigrate to. 

Kryten beamed. "Ah, the Axeman is back!"

"Don't patronise me. I know I can't play. Anyone with half an ear can tell that."

"Please, sir — you are not yourself at present," Kryten assured. "When you're fully functional, and your personality's restored, you will firmly believe that you can play the guitar like the ghost of Hendrix."

"Is there something good you can tell me about myself? Something laudable?"

"Laudable…" Kryten thought out loud as he retrieved Rimmer's light bee from the refrigerator. "Well, you frequently help me with my laundry duties by wearing your underpants inside out and extending their wear time by three weeks."

"I'm an animal!" he exclaimed, a disgusted look washed over his face. "I'm a tasteless, uncouth, tone-deaf, mindless, revolting, randy, blokeish, semi-literate space bum."

"Oh! Welcome back, Mister Lister, sir!" Kryten wrapped his arm around Lister's shoulder, smiling. 

Lister puzzledly eyed a frozen object Kryten held with tongs. "What's that?"

"That's Mister Rimmer, sir. This is his light bee. He's a hologram."

Kryten then plopped the light bee in a pot of boiling water. It clunks and rattles around inside for a few seconds before the mechanoid took it out, the ice now defrosted, and set it inside an egg cup. 

"Rimmer… He's my best mate, isn't he?"

Kryten's face dissolved into a look of distaste. "Sir, _you are sick_! Maybe a little synaptic enhancer will do the trick."

He took out an injector from one of the shelves and gave Lister a shot of enhancer. Within a few minutes, he would regain his memory completely. 

Then he gingerly picked up the egg cup, as to not drop the small projection device. While he carried it into the ship's mid-section Kryten murmured to it. "Time to wake up, sir. We need you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lizzie for co-writing this. I'm not good with dialogue, and without her help on that and other aspects of the story, I don't think I ever would've finished it. I also want to thank the beta readers who helped us out in a big way.


End file.
